Isolation Theory: A Marcus Flint Fanfic
by Nera Fiore
Summary: When Oliver Wood insults Marcus Flint, Marcus completely loses control. Before he knows it, he finds himself reliving his painful past, seeing the truth through the lies, and losing friends.


Isolation Theory: A Marcus Flint Story. 

By Alyssa D'Angelo

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Disclaimer: Marcus Flint and other related characters are owned by JK Rowling. The song lyrics are copywritten to Adema, Papa Roach, Linkin Park, AFI, and Matchbox Twenty

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Rating: R for and other stuff overload of profanity, mentioned rape, abuse, self-mutilation, and suicide, violence, and other stuff. 

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Summary: A story about Marcus's thoughts and life are told as a conflict plays out between him and Oliver Wood. 

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Author's Notes: Just a one shot, angsty Marcus Flint fic. The language gets a little ridiculous, lol, but that's okay, I think. I worked quite hard on it, so I hope you're all nice enough to drop a review or two ^^ thanks.

**__**

This pain inside I can't understand  
This hate in life that will not go away  
This pain inside I can not live with it  
It feels like no one really understands

~*~

"Stoppit! Dad stop! Dad-OW-DAD NO! PLEASE NOT THE BELT DAD! AHH NO! STOP! OW! PLEASE DAD! AHH!"

~*~

Marcus Flint took a step back in the dim bricked tunnel that led out to the Quidditch pitch. This was the last thing he needed. He heard one of his own teammates, Adrian Pucey, shoot an insult back at the Gryffindors and Montague, another one of his own 'friends' laugh. Marcus closed his eyes and clenched his fists. 

"Say that again, Wood," he snarled through gritted teeth, "Go on." 

Oliver Wood smiled coolly, as did the Weasley twins, and the one black chaser girl on the Gryffindor team who were with him. "You heard me, Flint, you no good fuck up." 

"SAY IT AGAIN!"

"What Flint? That your skills are so bad that any of Diggory's chasers could take you on blindfolded? Or that ya father hates ya momma and neither of them love you?"

"GO FUCK YOURSELF, WOOD!" 

"You first, Flint."

"You little fucker, I'LL BASH YOUR FACE IN!"

"I'd like to see you try."

Marcus lunged at Wood, fist first, aiming at the boy's jaw. Oliver ducked and landed a swift uppercut in Marcus's stomach. But Marcus didn't even feel it…his mind was somewhere else.

All he felt was the pain and the terror from the memories that were flooding his brain. Memories of the 'living hell' –as he called it. Memories of his father. Memories of home. He didn't think. He didn't know. All he felt was the pain and agony and…terror…from the memories. 

He brought his knee up in a single motion and made contact with Oliver's jaw, for real, this time. He heard someone scream, but he didn't know if it was a scream from someone in reality, or the memories.

God, stop the memories…

__

God, stop the memories. 

You wish, right? You fucking wish they'd stop, right? But things don't work like that, do they? No matter what you wish for, it ain't like it's coming true. 

I learned that the hard way. I wished on someone else's star for the first eleven years of my life. Fuck, I wished he'd stop hitting me. I wished he'd stop raping me. Hell I even wished I'd die. 

None of that happens though, of course. Shit doesn't happen the way you want it to. I learned all that ages ago. You get lucky once in awhile –Like me being offered Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, but basically life screws you over in the end. Like my fucking Hogwarts letter. I get away from him for 9 months, but I eventually gotta go back home and face the fucking music. Even Cedric Diggory, Hogwarts' most precious little fucker got screwed over. It never fails. 

Marcus stumbled backwards. He felt blood trickling from his mouth down onto his neck. Blood was on his robes as well, but he wasn't sure whose blood it was. Oliver Wood lay limp in front of him. He wasn't moving.

"My God man, what did you do?! YOU KILLED HIM!" Adrian yelled at Marcus, whose face was completely spanned out. He heard feet pounding away and Montague's voice scream, "YOU'RE ON YOUR OWN THIS TIME!" 

The Weasley twins were on their knees at Oliver almost instantly. "ALICIA, RUN FOR HELP! HE ISN'T BREATHING!" one of them screamed. The other kept calling Oliver's name, and prodding him, hoping for a response. The girl ran off.

Marcus was still only half-aware of everything though. He stumbled again, and fell, slamming the back of his head against the brick wall in the tunnel. His eyes closed again, fist and teeth clenched. He felt himself start to hyperventilate. 

__

~*~

A small boy is seen laying on his stomach on a stone floor in a dark room. A tear rolls down his stained face. A older, adult man looked over him.

"This is for your own good, boy."

The boy coughed. 

"Lesson number one in hand-to-hand combat….ALWAYS KICK THE OTHER MAN WHEN HE'S DOWN!"

The man immediately pulled back his foot and swung his leg hard into the boy's side. The boy screamed and rolled over onto his back. 

~*~

"MARCUS FLINT!" a shrill voice screamed, jolting Marcus back to some semi-reality. I was live being half-asleep….Marcus was still caught in a memory. He opened his eyes and saw Professor McGonagall in front of him, yelling at him, but he wasn't listening to her. In the background, he saw Hagrid, Madam Pomfrey, the Weasley twins and that girl loading Wood onto a stretcher. All of them rushed off with his body…

McGonagall kept yelling, but he was still oblivious to her words. But then he felt himself scream. Hagrid placed his hands on his shoulders, and was leading him off with McGonagall, out of the tunnel and up to the school. He only came back to complete reality when he heard McGonagall say, "I don't know how to handle this, I'm taking you to the headmaster…"

__

I'm a dirty, rotten, cheating motherfucker, I guess. People sure haven't hesitated to call me one at least.

I was taught that hitting someone in the jaw could kill them, and you're damn right if you're guessing that I wanted to kill Wood right there. He had no right to bring up my family. None. And when he spat those words like that, he sounded like my father. And not only that, but he even looked like him. I lost all fucking control, alright? Not like it was even my fault.

Wood didn't know what the fuck he was saying. Fuck, anyone who brings up my family doesn't know what the fuck they're saying. They don't know my father and how many fucking times he beat on me and raped me. And you don't talk about things you don't know about, or understand, because you'll get what's coming to you. Wood was obviously too fucking stupid to realize that one though. I had every damned right to hit him. 

The pain. God, the unbearable pain that no-fucking-excuse for a father put me through.

**__**

Everything you say to me 

Takes me one step closer to the edge

And I'm about to break

I need a little room to breathe

Cause I'm one step closer to the edge

And I'm about to break

Marcus's mind was a blur as Hagrid and McGonagall marched him to the Gold Gargoyle Statue that 'guarded' the entrance to Dumbledore's office. 

McGonagall said the password that summoned the hidden staircase up into the office, and Marcus found himself enclosed in and odd room. It was cluttered with tons of old pictures and antiques. 

"Albus!" McGonagall called, "Albus I've-"

"It's alright, Minerva, I'll handle Marcus from here…" Dumbledore pointed to the staircase. Hagrid let go of Marcus's shoulders and turned to leave with McGonagall. Marcus was in shock. He could've very well had just committed a crime that could land him a lifetime in Azkaban, for fuck's sake – and Dumbledore WASN'T angry? It was almost not making sense. 

Suddenly, the realization that he was alone with Dumbledore came into play, and he put back on his arrogant, naïve façade. 

"Marcus…" Dumbledore spoke gently.

"What?!" he spat out, in a retortful manner.

Dumbledore was unfazed. "Why don't you sit down," he said, pointing to an old red velvet couch, in a less cluttered corner of the room.

Marcus shrugged and sat down, smugly. Dumbledore followed, sitting down next to him.

"Marcus, it has been brought to my attention that, for very little reason, you assaulted one of your classmates in the tunnel leading out to the Quidditch pitch…"

"LITTLE REASON?!" Marcus barked, "LITTLE REASON?! WOOD DESERVED ALL THAT SHIT AND THEN SOME!"

"Ah, Marcus, calm down, calm down," Dumbledore was speaking gently again. Marcus felt his body start to hyperventilate again. He tried to breathe slowly. 

"Why don't you explain what you mean," Dumbledore went on. 

Marcus sneered. "First he said I was a fuck-up and Diggory's chasers could beat me blindfolded. Ha, like hell's fire they would. BUT THEN he went on and said something about my family…"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, "Really? Now we're getting somewhere…"

Marcus furrowed his brows. "What?!" he mumbled. What was Doubledork playing at? He never slipped the truth about his father before….not even to Bole, or Montague, or even Adrian…" 

"Marcus, why don't you tell me about your family…"

Marcus snorted, "Like you care? My mother and father were transferred from the Ireland Ministry of Magic to Britain when I was two or something. Dad works in the federal courts or something with cases and trials and shit like that. Mum works with "Dangerous Plants' and shit." 

**__**

Never sheltered from life's hard storms

I was cold but now I am warm

__

I wasn't about to spill to that wanker, even if the Falmouth Falcons or Kenmare Kestrels offered me the best paying chaser position in the world. I don't spill shit about my family to no one. I never have. I can't. My father'd have me killed one way or another, and the same for my mother and sister. I just keep all this shit to myself.

It's so fucking hard though.

All the fucking times he used to come into my room while I was sleeping and pull out his fucking dick…you get the picture, but I couldn't even talk about it even if I wanted to. There were days were all I could do was lay on my stomach, too fucking sick, and too fucking achy to stand, and sitting was out of the fucking question. How the fuck does Doubledork expect me to just come out and talk about that?

And fuck don't get me started on the abuse. Hitting someone for no reason, fuck, if anyone was hit for no reason, I have 7 or 8 fucking 'souvenirs' slashed across my back. And they weren't from a fucking Quidditch game like the rest of the guys believe. He used to bat me around if I coughed too loud. I got a black eye once for making less than 80 points in a Quidditch game. Most of the time though, it was for jack nothin. Once I was walkin up the damn stairs to my room to get away from that fucker, and he followed me up the stairs, and threw me back down.

It was like this even since before we moved to Great-Fucking-Britain. 

__

~*~

12 year old Marcus Flint walks into the kitchen of his house in Lancs, Britain, already bruised and dirty from a Quidditch game on a local team. He knows he can't keep hiding…

As he walks into the kitchen, he puffs out his chest and stands tall. A man with dark hair like his own, sits, his back to Marcus.

"F-Father, I-"

The other man turns around, and seizes Marcus by the collar of the blue and black robes. "You what?" he says evilly.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't-"

"SILENCE BOY!" the man swiftly slaps Marcus in the cheek. Marcus yelps and turns his head to the side, revealing a red, stinging handprint on his cheek.

"Sixty points," the man coos again, "that's ALL?! GET TO YOUR ROOM BEFORE I SLAP YOU SO HARD YOU WON'T KNOW WHAT DAY OF THE WEEK IT IS! Sixty points…"

"B-But, I haven't eaten-"

"I DON'T CARE IF YOU STARVE TO DEATH! SIXTY POINTS! GET YOUR MOTHERFUCKING ASS INTO THAT ROOM OF YOURS, AND DON'T LET ME SEE YOUR FACE AGAIN TONIGHT!" the man roared, as Marcus coward within his grasp. Suddenly he threw him backward, and Marcus landed with a loud 'thud' on the floor. He moaned as he heard his father laugh. Dizzy, he stood and limped to the stairs to go to his bedroom.

~*~

**__**

The cycle continues, time for your crime

The pain comes back in an ugly design

Emotional swords slash my soul

And now the pain takes control

It's like a fight every single day

I'm sorry that it comes down to this

Punch through the walls as I break my fist

Loving ties unwind

Lost time behind

"Marcus…MARCUS!"

"DON'T" Marcus screamed in pure terror, and put his hands up around his face in a defensive position, "I'M SORRY!" he screamed again. Then he blinked, and remembered he was in Dumbledore's office. "Oh….sorry." he muttered.

"It's alright, Marcus," Dumbledore replied, "You sort of…trailed off…daydreaming, I daresay?" 

Marcus shrugged.

"Tell me, Marcus, what was going on in that daydream…"

"If you can even call it that," Marcus replied. His mind was screaming. He let too much slip.

"Oh," Dumbledore looked surprised, "What would you call it, then?"

"A-A….memory," he choked out. Dumbledore raised and eyebrow. "Care to share it?"

"N-no…"

"Are you sure?" 

"Yes."

"Marcus, you understand, I only ask you because I'm concerned. It **did** sound like someone was, how shall I say, **hurting** you…I assure you, Marcus, that nothing you share what's troubling you. I won't call Azkaban on anyone. I won't take points from Slytherin, or remove you from your captain or Quidditch position, I just simply want to share your burden, so you aren't so angry all the time." 

"You won't want to share this, trust me."

"How do you know?" 

Marcus rolled his eyes. He just wanted to be left alone with the grief. And God, if Dumbledore knew, he WOULD call Azkaban on his father….and Marcus knew he couldn't survive the trial with his mom and sister and the Ministry…

"I'd rather be angry." 

"Marcus…I don't understand…what've you got to lose?"

"More than you can imagine."

Dumbledore paused and nodded, then, to Marcus's surprise, said, "Have you ever heard the story about the monkey and the banana?"

Instantly, Marcus's smug expression was erased and he howled with laughter.

  
"I'm serious, Marcus, have you ever heard the story about the monkey and the banana?"

Marcus stopped laughing, "No, but I could use another good laugh," he said, smiling smugly again. 

Dumbledore wasn't smiling though. "Back in muggle Australia, in jungles, poachers and trappers used to build tiny huts with a tiny hole in the ceiling, large enough just to fit the monkey's arm in.. They used to put a banana on the inside of the hut's floor."

Marcus rolled his eyes again. Who gave a fuck about stupid muggles? This story proved they were a lot of dumbasses. He felt like putting the avada kedavra curse on himself. Dumbledore went on. 

"So, monkeys would come down out of the trees and reach into the huts through the tiny hole in the ceiling, and grab the banana. The bananas were too big to fit through the hole though, and when the poachers saw the monkey struggling to get the banana, they'd beat the monkey with sticks!"

Marcus sighed, "Get to the point, what are you trying to say?!"

"Marcus, all the monkey has to do to get away is let go of the banana."

"So what's your point?"

"Let go of the banana, Marcus." 

"What?!"

"Let go of the banana."

Marcus sat there stunned for a moment. 

"I CAN'T DO THAT THOUGH! WHY WON'T YOU FUCKIN ACCEPT THAT?!"

"Why are you so afraid to let go?"

"AFRAID TO LET GO?! I'LL SHOW YOU AFRAID TO LET GO!" Marcus stood up, enraged. Anger rushed through his veins.

Dumbledore sat calmly, "Go ahead then. Share your burden."

"WHY DO YOU CARE SO MUCH?!" Marcus raged on, "I WISH I COULD KNOCK THAT LOOK OFF YOUR FACE! DO YOU REALLY WANNA KNOW WHAT MY PROBLEMS ARE, HUH?!" 

"Yes, Marcus. I do want to know. 

Marcus howled. All the muscles in his body bulged. He looked terrifying, but Dumbledore didn't even try to calm him. He didn't even blink. 

"THIS!" Marcus screamed. He threw off the heavy protective Quidditch gear on his hands and arms, and threw them to the side, and struggled out of the Quidditch robes. Then he tore off his emerald and silver sweater underneath the robes. 

"THIS IS WHAT I KEEP INSIDE!" he turned and revealed the back of his bare torso to the old wizard. 

Dumbledore closed his eyes at the sight. Eight enormous scars stood out on the boy's pale skin. Marcus paused to catch his breath. 

"ARE YOU HAPPY NOW, DOUBLEDORK?! HUH?! ARE YOU HAPPY?! MY FATHER DID THAT TO ME DOUBLEDORK – AND YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE?!" he was panting, but still he raged on, "HE USED TO RAPE ME, OKAY?! NOW YOU KNOW! I LET GO OF THE FUCKING BANANA, DOUBLEDORK! LOOKIT! NO HANDS!" he let out another scream and fell to his knees, onto the floor. He hunched over, and tears spilled out onto his cheeks and splashed onto the floor. 

"I'm-I'm….I'm just like him though," he whimpered, "I'm just like he is…" 

__

Suicide. 

Every time life gets to be too hard it's the word that comes to mind. The word that could end everything. It could end my depression, it could end the terror, it could end the agony, it could end the memories. It's my relief. It's my coffee break. It's easy. It's quick. 

It stops the pain. 

I've tried more than once, I can tell you that much. But my father is right, and I am a fucking weakling loser. Too fucking weak to go through with it. I hate that. I hate being such a fucking weakling. The most I can bring myself to do is sit in a bathroom with a razor and cut along my veins and watch my fucking arm bleed.

It's not even like I fucking admit this to people. Hell the only person that should know besides me is Adrian. And he only found out because he walked in on me in the damn bathroom in out second year. It's not like I asked him to…

That's probably one of the most difficult parts of it. Adrian never told anyone and I'm the fucker that betrays him everything. And I'm not a goddamn traitor…

Yeah right. 

I told him I kicked the habit in our third year and he believed me. He's like that. Has more loyalty to his friends than the fucking Hufflepuffs put together. Dammit, if he found out….god, he'd lose it. I can't put him through that hell. 

I'd rather just be a weak little fucker and hide, okay?

~*~

The same twelve year old Marcus Flint sits alone on the large window sill in the boy's bathroom late at night. Quietly he pulls a razor blade from the pocket of his trousers.

'It's quiet and lifeless around here at midnight,' he thought, staring at the razor. 

Slowly he takes the blade and makes a small cut in his wrist, and he smiles. Watching his arm bleed took his mind off all the embarrassing things that happened to him earlier that day. It took his mind off home. His father…

He punctured his wrist again, the wound a little larger, and dragged the blade down the underside of his arm. A trickle of blood fell down his arm. Then he took the razor again, and –

"MARCUS?!" 

"AH! WHO'S THERE?!" 

"Marcus, chill man, it's me, Adrian…you know….Adrian Pucey….you don't gotta hide, ya know…"

Marcus's heart pounded as he tried to hide the razor and the obviously self-inflicted wounds on his arms.   
  
"MARCUS?! WHAT THE HELL?" Adrian came up behind him. Marcus looked up, right into his eyes. 

"I-I can explain!"

"Why do you have a razor blade? And why-"

"'drian, I can explain!"

"Marcus, you have a razor, you're bleeding, you're alone in the bathroom at half past midnight, really, what kind of fool do you take me for?" 

"Adrian, don't tell anybody, PLEASE!"

"Are you going to stop……?" Adrian's voice fell to a whisper. Marcus could tell he was upset. He stayed silent. 

"Promise me, Marcus, you'll quit by the end of the school year…or I'll have to tell." Marcus stayed silent yet. His brain was too fogged with thoughts to talk.

"Please?" Adrian pleaded. Marcus could hear a slight whimper in his voice, "C'mon Marcus, man? You're like the best chaser on the Slytherin team, and you're the only reason Cramer is actually thinking about letting me try out for the damned team! I'd hate to see…you know…" Adrian looked away, "Promise me you'll stop and come back to the common room with me?" 

Marcus nodded, still clutching the razor in his right hand. 

"Alright, I promise, 'drian" 

~*~

**__**

Pain bottled up bout to blow like a gun

The stories that I tell are nonfiction

And you can't take it back, cause it's already done

Push it back inside

'Dammit!' he thought, 'so weak…so….' He felt himself release another scream and hiccough, and before he could even struggle to his feet, he was sick on the floor. 

"It's alright, Marcus," Dumbledore said, still sitting on the red velvet couch, "Let it all out…..let it all out…" 

Marcus was still bare to his waist and hunched onto his knees. He coughed again and fell backward onto the pile of Quidditch robes and gear. He slammed his head onto the ground and muttered the word "fuck" and buried his face in the fabric. 

"Dissirio!" said Dumbledore and the mess vanished.

With the exception of a few soft sobs, everything was silent, and Marcus hated it. The long awkward silence that everyone dreaded. He hoped he maybe fall asleep…but it was just wishful thinking. 'And wishes don't come true' he reminded himself. Out side a bolt of lightening flashed in the window and the roar of thunder fallowed, signaling a storm would be starting any moment. Then finally, Dumbledore himself spoke up, his voice cracking a little bit.

"I won't call Azkaban," he said quietly, immensely serious, "But Marcus…we need to do something. I hate living with the knowledge that one of my students is suffering abuse."

Marcus tried to respond, but all he managed to get out was a combination of a sniffle, a cough, and a grunt. Then there was another pause, and suddenly thunder boomed louder than ever. Neither of them was paying attention to the weather, but it was storming loud now, and the sky had darkened.

Marcus felt his mind shift attention to the soft rhythm of the raindrops pounding against the windows and the ceilings in the castle.

"I like the rain…" he said out loud at last, in a hoarse whisper. He felt it was a foolish and childish thing to say, and he knew it was nothing at all related to ANYTHING that had taken place that day. But at the same time, he didn't care though. 

"Mm. So do I," Dumbledore responded to his surprise, "It's like a symbol of a new beginning. It washes away evil." 

Marcus shivered and slowly, looked up from the floor and the robes that he buried himself in, into Dumbledore's eyes. It was the same look that Adrian gave him four years ago. That look of trust and loyalty and concern all in one. 

"It's a new beginning," Dumbledore continued, nodding, but Marcus shifted his glace back onto the floor. "But when something begins," he mumbled, "it normally means that something else ended," his mind flashed to Oliver Wood on the ground and the Weasley twins and that Gryffindor chaser girl screaming that Wood wasn't breathing, "God, I'm such a fucking bastard…"

"Marcus…..calm down…."

"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! I JUST MAY'VE KILLED THE GODDAMN GRYFFIN….DOR," he paused and refrained from using the word "Gryffinwhore" that he almost always referred to the house as, and looked back up at Dumbledore.

"MY FATHER NEVER DID THAT TO ANYONE! FUCK IT! I'M WORSE THAN HIM! Not that it matters, he'll-"

"I already said I wasn't calling Azkaban on anyone…that included you too, Marcus" Dumbledore interrupted. Marcus raised his eyebrow.

"…but I….Wood wasn't breathing."

"Oliver Wood was indeed unconscious, but very much alive…a coma, I persume, at the worst…he'll also have some other injuries, but…"

Marcus wasn't listening; he sighed a little relief.

"I want you, Marcus," Dumbledore went on, and his head snapped up at the sound of his name, "to change into some recreational clothes, and-" he paused. Marcus raised his eyebrow again.

"Apologize to him."

"WHAT?" Marcus's eyes flashed and his nostrils flared, "You've got to be shittin me-"

"If you want your penance, you will apologize to Oliver, Marcus…"

"Penance…so I have no choice…"

"I'm afraid not."

"FUCK IT! No detention? No points from Slytherin? No Quidditch suspension? Fuck, I'd sooner face all that than this, fuck, NO! I can't apologize! I don't forgive people for being assholes! WHY?!"

"Perhaps…it is for the best."

The thunder outside crashed loudly again, and Marcus growled. 

"What the fuck's the use of talking to someone who can't hear you anyway?" 

Dumbledore didn't respond, he just bowed his head and extended his arm and pointed to the staircase. Marcus rose to his feet and grabbed up his robes and gear. "Go, Marcus," Dumbledore said. 

"I'm way ahead of you," he retorted. 

__

I'm sorry I don't fuckin forgive people for being stupid and ignorant. I might be a Slytherin but I ain't ignorant. Ignorance isn't a mark of a Slytherin.

Gryffinwhore is obviously an exception. 

I know I should be kissing Doubledork's feet for not suspending me or even doing so much as a detention or taking points. But I'd sooner die than apologize to Wood the Wanker. I don't fuckin work that way. 

Marcus stormed through the corridors to the dungeons at a grueling pace; he was almost seeing red again, and highly oblivious to the stares from other students in the passage, staring at him. He didn't bother to redress. The scars on his back were aching like someone had re-slashed them open again, like needles. 

He slammed open the door to his dormitory, ignoring the looks Adrian, Bole, and Montague were giving him. He dove face first onto his bed and lay there a few seconds, then proceeded to snarl and roll over to close the curtains in on the 4-poster. Then he flopped back down on his face, the room silent for a few minutes. 

Bole spoke first, a smart alec tone in his voice. "So what now Flint? They preparing your ride to Azkaban? You even get to owl your 'rents?" 

"Better shut up Bole or he's liable to come murder you, too." 

"Pucey, Bole, you both just better fuck off, cause I will take you off the team like Higgs in seconds, yo." 

"Godammit Marcus, what's your problem man?" Adrian said. He walked over and drew back the curtains on Marcus's 4-poster, "what the fuck, already?!" he said, glaring. 

"No, Pucey, what's your problem? Leave me alone, I've got enough shit to deal with already, and I REALLY DON'T WANNA ADD YOU TO IT!"

"And it was a Gryffinwhore," Montague mumbled in the background. 

"MONTAGUE! DON'T YOU FUCKIN DEFEND HIM! You were fuckin there! Just cause we're Slytherins…dude, me and you'll get put on a fuckin trial as witnesses and shit-"

"GO FUCK A GRYFFINWHORE, PUCEY!" Marcus roared.

"Go fuck your mom!" Adrian responded to him like a second nature.

And without even thinking, Marcus reached up and over and grabbed Adrian by the collar of the navy blue sweater he was wearing. He was half expecting him to call for help or try to fight back, but he didn't.

"What's that?" he said simply, focusing all his attention on the underside of Marcus's forearm.

Marcus panicked. "Nothing," he said, but Adrian was quick to use both his arms to seize Marcus's hand and free the grip of his sweater. Marcus emitted a low "ow, motherfuck-" as Adrian revealed a series of thin, spidery-like scars cut into his arm. Instantly, Adrian's jaw dropped. 

"You fucker. You…you fuckin lied all these years!" he whispered. Bole and Montague exchanged glances in the background, staying silent. "You know what," Adrian went on, "FUCK YOU! You fuckin liar! You know what, I don't know about Montague, but I ain't gonna fuckin defend you if they call me to stand as a witness at a trial. You wouldn't fuckin defend me if you found out that I was lying to you for five years straight, why should I do it for you?"

"Pucey, listen to me-"

"Go fuck yourself, Flint. I'm sick of covering up for you and acting like some kind of fucking minion. That's all I am, right?" 

"Adrian, SHUT UP AND LISTEN!"

**__**

I cannot deal with your lies

I wish I could watch you drown and die

And take my time

Life has always been a problem.

"Fuck you, Marcus, fuck you. Find me when you can tell the fuckin truth, but until then, I don't give a fuck if you cut me from the team."

__

And this gets added to the list of reasons I deserve to die. I just fucking lost my best friend. If someone offered me a knife at this point, I'd stab myself. 

I'm a rotten lying cheating motherfucker. I live up to everything my father's ever called me. I deserve to die. I wouldn't care if Voldemort came and took me now.

Voldemort.

No, I'm not afraid to speak the name – I mean, for fuck's sake, how would that look if Marcus Flint was afraid of the person that a fuckin baby defeated when he was six.

I've considered a life of a death eater more times than I've failed my fuckin Transfiguration exam…and that's saying something. But the thing is, Lord Voldemort rewards. Voldemort doesn't shun you unless you've shunned him first. Lord Voldemort provides a place where people like myself can actually fuckin belong. Lord Voldemort wouldn't make me relive the hell I've suffered. He'd give two and a half more fucks about me than the rest of the world. Give me five good reasons I shouldn't turn to him right now.

I don't get accepted to the Falmouth Falcons or the Kenmare Kestrels or any other goddamn Quidditch team in Britain or Ireland, I will consider those ranks.

We already went over this. Life screws you over in the end. I used Diggory for my first example, and now this. What more do you fucking want from me?

**__**

Please hand me the bottle, I think I'm lonely now

Please give me direction, I think I just caved in

I'm lonely now, I'm bleeding now, so hold me now

I think the hurt set in

But it ain't nothin

Marcus negligently buttoned his jeans and pulled a plain white t shirt over his head. He slipped on a pair of regular tennis shoes, and sat down on the foot of his bed.

"Where y'going?" asked Derrick, the only other person in the room now, and the only roommate that didn't witness the incident with Wood or the incident with Adrian. 

"Don't talk to me, Derrick."

"Well dude, Adrian and the rest of the guys were going to the great hall – if you're-"

"Fuck off Derrick, I said don't talk to me."

Derrick put his hands up in a defensive position. Marcus got up and headed for the doorway. "Fallow me, and you die," he said. Derrick yelled something angrily back, but Marcus only heard his name and Wood's name mentioned, and that was it. He raised his right arm and gave 'the finger', just incase Derrick could still see him, even though he was halfway down the corridor to the common room anyway. 

Approaching the common room, he could hear a rich pompous boy's voice speaking dramatically, followed by a squeal of laughter from a girl.

"Yeah, so Flint just swings his leg and KABOOM! Wood gets it right in the kisser. Father told me that knocking someone in the jaw hard enough could kill them, and between you guys and me, I hope it does. That wanker deserves it, stealing all the glory from Slytherin; from Flint – it's his last year, you know; from me-"

Malfoy. Flint bit his lip to keep from screaming in rage as he entered the common room. Malfoy had his legs propped up on the coffee table, his sidekicks, Crabbe and Goyle on either side of him. Across from him was Pansy Parkinson, squealing with delight as Malfoy told her everything. 

"Hey, look, it's Flint right there," Malfoy said, and everyone turned, "HEARD ABOUT EARLIER! BLOODY BRILLIANT, THAT WAS!" Malfoy went on, but Marcus just nodded, and climbed out of the portrait hole. He cursed under his breath the entire time. If Malfoy knew about the scenario, the rest of the school did too. He took a few back corridors. The less people he saw, the better. He reached his destination all too soon though. He felt his heart pounding in his chest as he looked around to see if Madam Pomfrey or anyone else for that matter were around. Then he stepped inside the Hogwarts Infirmary, and looked down two rows of lined-up beds for in-patients. 

He always hated being in the infirmary, or 'The Seventh Circle of Hell' as he called it. It was extremely unwelcoming, even for him, and the smell made him somewhat nauseous. He looked around inside the room. Only one bed was occupied.

The nauseous sensation was almost overwhelming now, but he stood his ground. He stumbled nervously to the last bed on the right.

It was almost unnerving. Looking at Wood. He was pale and motionless, and his face was soaked in sweat. He looked like he was in a comatose state, no doubt. Even the thought that Wood has deserved what he got couldn't keep Marcus from feeling more than slightly upset.

"Look, Wood," he said, outloud, his voice a somewhat hoarse whisper, "I don't know if you can fuckin hear me or not, but I saw red back there, and though I think you deserved getting your ass beat, I guess you don't really deserve to die. Look man, I'm apologizing here, take it or leave it."

Of course, Wood didn't respond. He was completely out of it. Either that, or really good at acting. Marcus clenched his fists again. "Godammit Wood! Answer me!" his voice growing to more of a shout, "Because of what you fuckin said to me, you almost got yourself slaughtered, Dumbledore knows about my father, and fuckin Adrian Pucey won't talk to me! Dammit, GODAMMIT! Wood, I hope you're happy, cause you should be fuckin apologizing to me!"

He heard a door swing open, and he spun around, expecting to see Madam Pomfrey coming to yell at him, give him detention, and take all Slytherin's points. 

But it wasn't Madam Pomfrey.

It was Adrian.

Marcus's jaw dropped, "'drian – what the fuck? _Why_ the fuck?" Adrian shrugged, "I was gonna ask you the same. To let you know though, Wood couldn't answer you even if he wanted to."

Marcus raised his eyebrow, "wha-?"

"I walked past earlier when Pomfrey had the entire Gryffindor team in there. She said he'd come to in a few days, but he won't be able to talk for a week. Something about the meds they got him on gives you a side effect of lockjaw or summin, I dunno what the fuck she said-"

Marcus stared at Adrian, then turned back to Wood, blinked, and said, "So, like, how'll he eat?!" Neither of them could suppress a smile, as Adrian said, "I have no idea."

Their smiles quickly faded though. Adrian looked down, his voice a hoarse whisper now, and said, "Look, Marcus, I didn't mean any of that shit I said earlier…..but that still doesn't mean I don't feel fuckin hurt or betrayed."

Marcus shrugged, "I don't blame you. I'm nothing but a motherfucker anyway."

"Marcus, you had me believing you had that fuckin habit kicked five years ago. Trying saying you wouldn't be pissed is someone you considered your best friend led you on for five years!"

Marcus shrugged again, "Yeah, I know, but-"

"Shut up Marcus, and listen to me. Look. I don't want my final Hogwarts year to blow. So if you're willing to come back to the dorm with me, and START TELLING THE FUCKING TRUTH, I'll be willing to forget this fucking day ever happened."

Marcus looked from his shoes, to Adrian, and over at Wood who was still completely out of it. "I guess I fucked it up pretty bad."

Silence again, but this time Marcus noticed the rain again. It was still pounding on the windows, in a soft rhythm. _'It's a new beginning'_….Dumbledore's words lingered in his head.

"Understand, 'drian, I'll give you the truth, but you better be damned sure you're ready for it."

Adrian nodded slightly, and shifted his glanced and looked at Wood. "I thought for sure he was gone. You're both _really_ lucky."

__

Kind of ironic the way things turn out, I guess. Karma never does cease to amaze me. Dumbledore was right. A new beginning has started, and a whole new motherfucking story has yet to be read.

Me and Adrian have one hell of a lot of explaining and confessing to cover with one another. But it's not like it's something I can avoid anymore though.

I'm still in some shock that I'm not on my way to Azkaban. Wood's a stronger motherfucker than I took him for. Of course I'm still the better Quidditch player, but that's a whole 'nother ordeal.

I wished on someone else's star since I was two years old. I know that wishes don't necessarily come true, but maybe I found my fucking star for once. I still say life screws you over in the end, like I've said before.

But I guess that me and Wood just got lucky.

****

Swing through sadness

Curse the sunlight

Drink the madness

Like an angel with two broken wings, reach to the sky again

Like a devil, meant for better things, I will find my place on high.


End file.
